


Noisy

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean jerks off and it's annoying. No really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noisy

Dean’s not quiet at the best of times, and he really knows how to get on Sam’s nerves at his worst. He does it on purpose, Sam knows. He goes out and hits on girls, plays pool and shows off, flirts and drinks and forgets all his problems, and then he comes home and Sam has to suffer the consequences.

The consequences aren’t all _that_ bad, considering. Dean can hold his liquor so he’s rarely so drunk that he pukes, and he’s almost never hungover, but he does this _thing_ , and it makes Sam furious. He comes in smelling like booze and smoke, strips down without any sense of shame and showers for a maximum of five minutes, and then he comes out again, stark naked. Sometimes he puts on boxers, and sometimes he doesn’t. Sam pretends to sleep through the whole thing, and Dean keeps up the charade, moving around on tip-toes, whispering to no one. Then he climbs into his bed, motel springs squeaking, and doesn’t go to sleep.

He jerks off instead. Noisily. Or at least, noisily enough to be heard in a silent room across the three feet that separates him and Sam. Sam’s convinced that he does it on purpose just to piss him off, but he’s not sure if Dean knows the true effect it has on him.

Dean starts out slow, sighing, sliding his heels up and spreading his knees, rustling the sheets. (He does get under the sheets.) Sam can hear him touching himself, stroking his hands down his chest and up his thighs, can hear the hitch in his breath when he circles one fingertip around a nipple. He hears Dean’s exhale of anticipation when he gets near his dick, hear him shifting on the bed, spreading wider, farther. Dean’s groan is barely stifled when he wraps his hand around his cock, and at this point Sam has to do some shifting of his own, surruptitiously turning on his belly, grinding his hard-on into the mattress and turning his head so he can watch without seeming to.

Dean pushes the sheets down and they rustle again, and then he moans as he starts to stroke himself. It’s a soft sound, as if unconscious, but it’s not necessary, and Sam knows Dean has better self-control than that. For all his ridiculousness and womanizing and drinking habits, Dean has the sharpest self-control Sam knows. And he doesn’t like losing it. Which is why these seemingly unconscious noises are out of place.

Sam has to bite his pillow to keep from answering when Dean moans, “Oh, yeah,” and starts to push his hips up to meet his fist. It’s dark, and all Sam can see is shadows moving, but the motion is unmistakable. Dean fucks his fist, chest heaving, back arching, and Sam humps the bed as slowly as he can stand it. He stifles everything, ever whisper and sigh that might escape him, because he wants to hear Dean. He wants to hear Dean murmur and moan, wants to hear the wet sound of his hand on his cock, wants to hear the rapid, rising squeak of the springs as Dean increases his pace. He doesn’t have to watch, he can just listen, and he knows from long habituation what Dean sounds like when he’s close, when he’s desperate to come.

And he knows what Dean sounds like when he does come: the sheets go silent, Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and then he groans, long and low, hitching with every shockwave of his orgasm. It sounds like it’s wrenched out of him, interrupted by short gasps, and ending with another sigh. Then another rustle of sheets as Dean relaxes, followed by the very close-by fumbling for the box of complimentary tissues. It’s enough to have Sam on edge, helpless, unable to stop his hips from rolling against the bed. Dean has to have noticed, Sam thinks, face buried in his arms as he listens to his brother come down. Dean wipes up and tosses the tissues in the can by Sam’s head, and Sam imagines he can smell it.

He hates it, honest. It makes him horny and nauseous and angry and avaricious. He wants to make Dean make those noises, not just listen to them from across the room. He wants the noises to be for him.


End file.
